La Lune de Miel
by madame.alexandra
Summary: A collection of vignettes from Han & Leia's honeymoon. [Identity 'verse]
1. Bored

_a/n: a quick intro: as the summary suggests, this will be a series of disjointed 'moments' from Han & Leia's 'Identity' honeymoon - unconnected, plotless, fics about nothing - !_

* * *

 _La Lune de Miel  
Une_

 _"Bored"_

* * *

She had never swooned over her someday-honeymoon – never fantasized, never lost hours luxuriating over the concept.

Hhe had striven for victorious elections and the end of Imperial tyranny; her aspirations had been political and stately, and she had shied away from the traditionally girlish preoccupation with a wedding, a honeymoon, a man – not out of scorn, out of practicality; as a princess, she had assumed romance to be secondary to duty, and she didn't waste a whit of precious time on contriving a personal bliss when it would be about power, advantage, and elite matchmaking for her –

\- and so, to say that this was better than her dreams was an absolute truth, for her dreams had been nothing – and yet she asserted that her honeymoon outdid the wildest dreams of any young woman.

 _This_ was bliss, it was euphoria – hours, minutes, days of radio silence and solitude, the privacy of these Corellian mountains was so quiet and so precious, achingly wholesome this was, this was –

It was the trip to Bespin without all the stumbling, without the newness and tumultuous sparks – there was none of the stress and fear that had lingered in a cloud of threat around them during the war – this was Han and Leia stripped bare, alone and purely intimate – no disturbances, no enemy menacing –

Bare and intimate, in the most figurative, and the most literal sense of the words.

Eyes lidded, Leia lay on her back on the bed – her heart fluttered contently in her chest, at ease and lazily aroused – she curled her toes against the intricately decorated, braided metal of the bed frame, and next to her, Han stretched out sleepily in the mess of sheets, basking in sunlight and autumn air that breezed in through open windows –

His hand ran over her shin, her knee, pads of his fingers brushing every inch of her skin – a new ritual he seemed to have taken to, since last night, or early this morning, touching every bare inch of her skin to cool her down - or rile her back up – time ran together; she barely remembered the last time they had dressed, or eaten, or moved from this bed –

 _Sacred,_ she thought breathlessly, _this place is sacred, this bed is sacred, and he is sacred._

His hand dipped between her legs, and he kissed her hip bone, the top of her thigh, and when she turned her head, her lashes still dancing, her nose brushed his leg – hip to hip they lay, his head near her thighs, hers at his, skin still slick with a layer of sweat, and Leia gasped softly at his sensitive touch –

 _What had he done?_ Something, something that made her feel alight, on fire – satisfied and thirsting all at once, as if every miniscule nerve in her was ignited - -she was hyperaware of her skin, her breasts, his lips, his touch –

Hours and hours of this, relentless, and still he wanted her, and she reciprocated – she hadn't caught her breath in hours, and her head spun, how could he – oh, she'd never felt this good in her life, and it would never get old, it would be like this forever –

She opened her eyes, reached over to touch him, her palm sliding over his abdomen.

"Han," she whispered, lips moving against his thigh – and she kissed him there, turning her head, lifting it to rest her cheek on his knee.

He murmured some response, his lips on her stomach, and then sat up, tilting his head at her lazily. His hand trailed between her legs gently, paying light, ticklish attention to her thighs, and Leia shivered, her abdomen tightening – had she – how many times – she'd lost track of how many times he'd made her –

A soft laugh escaped her lips; she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Won't you ever get bored of me?" she teased, barely above a whisper, and Han straightened a little, his hand resting on her hip.

He shook his head, an intoxicated, sultry look in his eyes – his jaw clenched, tightened in such an aggressively masculine, rugged way, she remembered him whispering in her ear, once – _hot for you, Sweetheart, 'm always hot for you – god, Leia, Leia - !_

She rose up, supporting herself on her elbow, her hand coming to rest in his thigh, and her eyes were soft, curious –

"Ever?" she asked – and the word came tumbling out, not insecure, but searching, interested – it had suddenly struck her that he had promised her forever, _forever_ , and his experience was so extensive where hers was so limited –

He tilted his head.

He sat forward, drawing his legs up, as she mimicked his movement, and she sat close to him, her shoulders straight, almost nose to nose. He took her neck in his hands, lightly and gentle, and her pulse danced and whispered against his palms –

"What's this about?" he murmured, voice thick with brewing desire – and to think, he was still so heady, still looked like he wanted to devour her, take her hard, take her slow, take her, _take her_ – when he'd had her so many times.

"Variety," Leia answered, soft and sweet, her brow lifting airily. "You won't get bored of this," she asked huskily, "one woman, the rest of your life?"

Han made a soft, seductive scoffing noise, immediate and dismissive. He shook his head, hands sliding from her neck to her shoulders – and his thumbs curved in, tracing patters on her breasts, and Leia drew in a deep breath, holding his gaze.

"Wouldn't be the opportune moment for me to change my mind," he teased huskily, and then tilted his head, shaking it again – "Leia," he breathed gruffly.

It was her turn – to take his neck in her hands, touch his jaw with her thumbs affectionately.

"I trust you to be faithful," she murmured. "Tell me if it seems a little boring," she probed – would it, when he had other paramours, other affairs?

She hadn't. She knew no different – intimate commitment was easy, because she had refused it and scorned it until she was absolutely sure –

Han shook his head, his expression intense, conflicted – he looked the way he did when he tried to find words, and he drew her closer –

"It ain't easy learnin' someone new. It ain't exciting always startin' over," he said vaguely – she knew Han, he hated, vehemently hated, talking about his past lovers with her – he leaned in, his forehead brushing hers – "Bored?" he mumbled. "I'll be damned," he growled huskily, "you're better than anything I've ever had."

He closed his eyes, swallowed hard – her, this – it was, easily, the peak of his romantic experience; he'd never be bored, and he'd never be unsafe with her – Leia was a relief, she was his home, and somehow, being able to call her his wife now drove him wild – he needed her like he had before he'd ever touched her.

Leia hung her arms around his neck, shifted next to him, and he kissed her until she broke awake, quietly drawing a shaky breath – and he nudged her shoulder with his chin.

"You're the one who ought to worry about boredom," he murmured, a strange, unexpectedly nervous edge infusing his tone – "Just me?" he asked. "Only me? That's it? Rest of your life?"

She pursed her lips – so strange, the different ways they saw the world, as if maybe there was a glimmer of something the other sacrificed, missed out on, for the sake of a marriage –

"I'm stuck with you now," she murmured, wryly turning the same sort of joke back on him – and then she moved closer, almost on his lap, fiercely, her eyes blazing, breath catching heatedly. "I don't have the inspiration to even wonder what other men would be like," she whispered.

Han gave her a slow, easy smirk, wrapping his arms around her.

"Listen to you, Mrs. Solo," he drawled. He clicked his tongue. "Getting mushy on me."

"What you always wanted, is it not?" she quipped.

Han grinned. He nodded, leaned in to kiss her – his hands went into her hair, over her shoulders, touched her neck, twisted into her necklace, and shifting against him, Leia grasped at his hips, at the sheets, touching until he groaned softly and pulled away, giving her a muted, dry smile – _another half hour, Sweetheart –_

Han ran a hand back through his hair, and looked at her thoughtful, his jaw tightening attractively again as he swallowed, a spark glinting in his eye –

"Boring," he mumbled suggestively. "I got somethin' for you, Your Highness," he teased.

He laid back, shifting his hips, and Leia moved away slightly, watching him – he lifted one leg, his knee pointed to the ceiling, and reached over his head, grasping the woven iron bed frame – nodded his head, satisfied, and looked over at her, crooking a finger at her suggestively, and then resting his hand on his chest pointedly.

"C'mere," he ordered smoothly.

She tilted her head, brow arched neatly, and sat forward, crawling over – she moved over him, straddling his hips, and he shook his head, and grinned –

"Hmm—huh-uh," he grunted, reaching for her arms, grasping her elbow lightly – "C'mere," he insisted – "You need – your legs under my shoulders," he said, half to himself.

Leia laughed huskily.

"Come again?" she asked.

"Patience, Leia, you will," Han fired back, and she tilted her head back, laughing – only to have him grasp her around the middle, tickling her, and she shrieked, finding herself drawn forward – "C'mere, sit up here."

"Sit _where_?"

Han arched up a little, and Leia let him direct her – laughed, and gasped, and after significant shuffling around, re-arranging – found herself perched on his chest – far forward, high up on his _chest_ – straddling him, her thighs parted close to his face, and she caught her breath, intimidated briefly by the intimacy.

Han's hands splayed over her lower back, a slow, proud smirk drifting across his lips – his arms were tucked behind her knees comfortably, and Leia's heart sped up incrementally – he looked up at her, his fingertips pressing into her skin possessively, and arched a brow –

"You okay with this?"

She tilted her head at him, nodding, lips parted in anticipation –

"Aren't I heavy?"

"Light as a feather," Han returned easily – he tightened his grip for a moment and pitched her forward just slightly –

Leia grasped the braided metal of their bed, tightening her fingers around it, her ankles caught somewhere under Han's elbows as he held her hips, her knees pressed on either side of his head – she caught her breath again, bit her lip, and reached down to run her hand through his hair –

"Han," she started breathlessly – he pulled on her a little, shifting his shoulders forward, and his mouth was on her – _again –_

She gripped his hair, then reached up to hang onto the frame again, leaning forward with a shiver, her lips, nose, forehead pressed against that cool metal, whispering his name – she felt immersed in some – nirvana, an unknown echelon of pleasure that was entirely him, only Han, in her blood and in her veins –

 _Sacred_ , she thought, crying out – she could be as loud as she wanted here, with no one but him, in stolen days that belonged only to them, these isolated sunrises in their private romance – _this time is sacred,_ she thought, screaming for him, his hands holding her steady, like they always would.

* * *

 _Honeymoon_

* * *

 _-alexandra_

 _story #357_


	2. Love Song

_a/n: all of these are meant to be plotless. little seinfeld episodes, but less acerbic._

* * *

 _La Lune de Miel_  
 _Deux_

 _"Love Song"_

* * *

There was sunlight throughout the chalet – warm, penetrating sunlight when the sky was clear, and snow-bright sunlight when it was cloudy – it was something about the mountains, or the architecture of the place – or magic, perhaps it was magic; the weather felt ethereal, and the quiet was musical.

 _Quiet_ – the world around them was so quiet here, lacking as it was in the screech and grind of Coruscant traffic – and _fresh_ , the air was fresh, free of choking smog and metallic, chemical scents – and that was why the windows were almost always open, balcony doors always swung wide –

It was windy this evening, and indolent gusts of it blew through the open area on the first level of the chalet, whipping up strands of Leia's hair and curling it around her face as she sat at the little dining island in the kitchen, her back to the rustic open windows. Sleepy rays of the setting sun warmed her shoulders and hair, and she tilted her head back, eyes closed.

She held a glass of wine loosely in her hand, twirled her fork lazily in the other, thoughtfully stirring the smoky, spiced pasta Han had concocted for dinner – she rested the base of her wine glass on her knee, balanced gracefully on her stool with one foot tucked up on the seat with her – humming quietly, listening to the _pop, sizzle – snap_ – of Han cooking right across from her, and the soothing drone the music he was absently singing along to.

He half-knew the lyrics, mumbled them half-under his breath in his native language, and Leia felt stirring, seductive chills up her spine at the sound of his voice, low and husky and focused on his task –

Leia tilted her head back down and opened her eyes, leaning forward – her stool wobbled a little, yet she easily kept her balance, taking a sip of wine, and then dipping her head forward to take another bite of dinner – fine pasta noodles curled neatly around the spears of her fork.

Swirling her tongue around the pasta, holding the utensil in her mouth for a moment to savor the taste, she turned her head and tilted it, her eyes on Han's back as he moved around the kitchen – ah, well, they had to get out of bed eventually, and if it was so Han could cook, so be it –

A quick glance over his shoulder, and Han caught her looking, pausing and giving her a grin. He moved languidly around the island to Leia, and she tapped the fork against her lower lip, biting back a smile.

He picked up his tumbler of whiskey, slipping his hand over her lower back – he gathered the material of her loose, cotton blouse in his hand and slid it up, admiring bare skin, and how low the hem of her violet lingerie rested on her hips. He leaned down and kissed her behind the hear, kissed her throat –

Leia tilting her head up, breathing in slowly and sighing – turning her head to his shoulder lightly, she inhaled him; he smelled like the smoky spices in the pasta sauce, hot peppers and white cooking wine, and she slid a hand around his hips, hooking her fingers into the low slung waistband of his trousers.

Han curved his arm around her head, his glass brushing against her cheek and leaving a dewy mark of condensation. He lowered his head and kissed her nose, looking down at her as she looked up –

"How's dinner?" he asked huskily.

Leia nodded, running her hand back and forth along his waistband.

"Hot."

"Too spicy?"

She laughed softly.

"No, honey, just right," she murmured, pursing her lips for another kiss – Han gave it to her, and she held her breath a little, enhancing that dizzy feeling he gave her; he _tasted_ like the wine, like a handful of other flavors that fed her soul, and not her body – safety, and wildness, and freedom.

Han pulled back, and ran his fingers through her hair gently, dipping his fingers in the loose loops of her braid, shaking out more tendrils around her face – his hand trailed across her shoulders, across her back, and he moved back to the stove, pausing to turn up the radio a little more –

It was an antique model; old-fashioned and ungainly to the eye, yet one of his pet-projects; like the _Falcon_ , something he'd taken and restored, and then enhanced, made it his own. He affixed it to some – eclectic station, an amalgamation of music that seemed perfect no matter the beat.

Leia listened to it, listened to him – the kitchen got darker as the sun set lower, and she looked behind her at the hazy sky, the watercolour painting of burnt umber and deep violet – one of Corellia's nocturnal birds gave a piercing song note, and Leia smiled as it faded into the evening, made way for the next song on the radio –

A song that drew her in, stopped her heart for a moment, stunned her, had her staring at the little device and its quaint speakers as if hypnotized, her wine glass pulled into her chest, lips parted in a kind of breathtaking recognition.

The tune she recognized immediately – the classic, slow melody of the lyrics she knew by heart – _ahh,_ she had known them by heart, back when she loved this song, and it had been so many years –

The sotto beauty of it enveloped her; she was tense, and then awestruck – for so many years, after Alderaan's – after Alderaan, she had run from music native to Aldera, she had turned this song off when it played near her, unable to bear it –

She pressed the rim of her glass against her mouth lightly, her lower lip shaking, and she closed her eyes a moment – she hardly tried to stop tears from spilling down her cheeks – nothing dramatic, merely a few stinging drops.

She was focused on the song, on the radio – peripherally, she saw Han move, saw that he was finishing his dram of whiskey and pouring another, smoothing his hand through his hair and turning to her, his bowl in his hand.

He strolled over to join her for dinner, and the sound of his dish clinking down urgently gave her a start – she looked over at him abruptly, just as he stepped in to take her face in his hands, his brow furrowing.

"Leia," he said gruffly, his thumbs catching tears.

She set aside her wine to keep from spilling it, and touched his wrist mustering a smile.

"No, it's nothing," she soothed. More tears directly contradicted that, and she laughed at the absurdity, catching her breath. "It's the song," she murmured. "The song, it's Alderaanian."

Han nodded, his worried expression relaxing a little. He ran his thumb under her eye and then brushed it against his lips, leaning forward to kiss her brow. He turned his head, resting his temple against hers.

"You want me to change it?" he asked.

Leia shook her head.

"Han," she whispered. "This used to be my favorite song," she confided.

He nodded again, shifting back a little. His lips turned up a little at the corner, and he looked at her sympathetically, his eyes drifting towards the radio.

"You sure, Sweetheart?" he asked. "I can change it."

He started to move, and she reached out and grabbed him, upsetting the balance of the stool – it wobbled, and Han steadied it, catching the sides in his palms, leaning forward to keep it still, and then reaching out to hold her hips in his hands.

She shook her head.

"I haven't been able to listen to it," Leia said softly. She licked her lips. "I haven't wanted to, it's too – it hurt."

Han ran his hands up her sides a little, and she looked down at his hands and smiled – those hands, _those hands_ ; meant so much to her. Her eyes ran over his wrists, up his arm, to his shoulder, and she tilted her head.

"It came on, just now, _here,"_ she whispered, "and I _want_ to listen to it," her voice broke subtly, "I want to hear it again."

Han gave her one of those crooked smiles.

"Yeah?" he asked. "What's the song about?"

Leia drew her lip between her teeth, her face flushing, and she glanced up through her lashes, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe herself –

"It's a love song," she said, her tone a little wry – oh, and she had always loved this song so much, it was meaningful without being saccharine, crafted by her favorite artist; she remembered how it used to lull her to sleep on stormy nights in the palace, the one girlish fantasy she gave herself - _Sith, I hope someday someone loves me like the guy in his song loves her._

Han gave her a sly, teasing smirk, and she nodded, giving a helpless shrug – _Han, I think it's about you_ \- she thought, and then laughed at herself for the sentimentality of it – was it because of Han, that she wanted to hear this song again?

She bit down on her lip, her lashes fluttering.

"I wish we'd played this at the wedding," she said murmured.

"Nah," Han said swiftly. "It's better here."

Leia tilted her head, and smiled. She sat forward, pushing Han's chest gently.

"Sit down," she coaxed. "Eat."

Han took a seat on the stool next to her, picking up his bowl. Leia leaned on the table, twirling her pasta on her fork, her fingers brushing the base of her wine glass – listening to the music – her eyes stung with more tears, yet she smiled; she felt no pain, hearing the melody –

Han reached out to tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear, and brush his palm lightly against her wet cheek, and Leia laughed huskily, her face flushing again – he scooted his stool forward and leaned in to kiss her shoulder; she turned towards him, her lips forming the lyrics of the song silently – Alderaanian words whispered into Han's hair.

He sat up, leaning lazily on his elbow on the table, taking up his utensil and facing towards her as he stabbed at his own pasta – and Leia canted her body towards him as well, her eyes red, but content, and bright.

He grinned at her charmingly, and she bit back another laugh, her nose wrinkling slightly.

"You're a good cook," she said primly, her voice thick, and sweet like honey – and Han smirked, nodding at her.

"That's what the song's about, eh?" he quipped. "Marrying a good cook."

"Something like that," Leia said, moving forward. She took a deep breath, and reached for his hand, clutching his wrist in her fingers, thumb against his pulse, eyes on their dinner, their wine – and then on his lips, and his eyes. She arched a brow. "We have to finish eating before we go back to bed," she chastised huskily – tried to be stern

Had they eaten a full meal since arriving – or had it all been stolen snacks, fresh fruits that left juice on pillows and sheets, lips and skin – things quickly grabbed from the kitchen before the next roll in the sheets –

"I don't know, Princess," Han drawled enticingly, "I think you want my hands on you while this song plays."

"Do I?"

He nodded; Leia caught her breath.

"I do," she murmured.

"Hmm," Han grunted quietly. "Where've I heard that before?"

He took her stool in his hand, and dragged it towards him, pulling her forward towards his lap – he felt her grasp at his shoulders, startled for a moment, and he smirked, turning and lifting her up onto the island. He sat looking up at her for a moment, and then reached up and hooked his fingers into the hem of her panties, manipulating them until he pulled them down her legs.

He stood up, and pulled Leia towards him, and she dipped her head in for a swift, gentle kiss to his throat, leaning back and flattening her back against the island table – she lifted her knees around his waist, looking at the ceiling through her eyelashes –

"Don't spill the wine," she murmured, anticipating his touch, the feel of him inside her – and that music coursed through her, as if somehow, it had always been about Han.

* * *

 _Honeymoon_

* * *

 _-alexandra_


	3. Soft-core Lullaby

_a/n: mildly analogous to a scene in the fic 'Girl Talk'_

* * *

 _La Lune de Miel_  
 _Trois_

 _"Soft-core Lullaby"_

* * *

The sauna bath in the Corellian cabin was a fully equipped whirlpool – given Leia's deep affection for warm, luxurious bubble baths, she had refused to purchase a private chalet with a 'fresher that resembled anything less than – for lack of a better word – a _spa._ She wouldn't have called the spa room extravagant by any means – though it did require a term more sophisticated than ' _fresher_ – it was modest, and yet quietly palatial; the floors were marble, most everything finely polished platinum finished in thin veneers of white gold – and the eye-catching stones that framed the basin of the sauna bath were tinged with glints of pink and orange that Leia found to be extremely attractive in candlelight.

She was not quite sentimental enough to bother with a hassle such as wax candles, however – candlelight happened to be her favorite setting on the light fixtures, and candlelight happened to be the hue in which she most liked to stare at Han –

Ah, for now, at least; for this quiet moment – Han had such a maddening knack for looking intensely appealing in most lights – which she attributed either objectively to the fact that he was simply blessed with arresting good looks, or subjectively to the fact that she loved him, and there was a fair chance she'd be dizzy over him if he was covered in muck and disoriented and blind –

In fact, she had been.

As it were – he was not, currently, covered in muck, disoriented, or blind – though his eyes were closed lazily and he seemed, for once, to be genuinely savoring the experience of a bubble bath, a ritual that was usually Leia's relaxation method – Han eschewed the quiet, languid hot water for drinking or rigging the _Falcon_.

He had participated in many a bath with her before – sitting with her during them, barging in to disturb her peace and irreverently flood the bathroom, splashing water on her – yet it was not his _thing_ , so to speak, and despite knowing that, Leia had ensured this sauna basin was comfortably large enough for the both of them.

She studied him intently in their easy silence, listening to the faint, electric hum of the dim lights, the mellow, erratic drip of water from one faucet or another – the streams of massage jets had long been turned off, but the bubbles were still thick and generous, and they made the surface of the water opaque – Leia could only see Han's bare chest rising out of the water as he lounged against marble directly opposite her – and one of his knees, propped up and rested against the side.

She uncrossed her legs, drawing her knees up, and leaned forward, shifting in the still steaming water – Han opened his eyes without moving his head, caught her eye, and grinned at her lazily – and she smiled, reaching up to run her hand over her neck, brushing strands of thick, wet hair away from her skin.

Leia ran her fingers through her messily braided hair, and twisted it in her palms, drawing it over her shoulder – Han tilted his head a little, lifting it, his brow rising just slightly.

Leia parted her lips, and he lifted his hand, resting it on his knee and pointing at her with a small smirk.

"That a blush, Princess?" he asked. He paused for a beat, and grinned, giving a soft snap of his fingers without allowing her to answer. "That's a blush."

Leia compressed her lips primly, and Han lifted his head a little more, straightening to keep her gaze. She slipped her fingers into the tangled crisscrosses of her braids, leaning forward lightly against her knees, smoothing bubbles over her shins as she looked back at him.

"Your blushing bride," she quipped wryly, quirking up an eyebrow to match his.

Han laughed.

"Haven't seen you blush like that since Bespin," he teased.

Leia rested an arm on her knees, and then lifted her hand, brushing a few fingers against her lips. She considered him a moment, and then lowered her lashes demurely.

"It's my virginal blush," she whispered coquettishly, and Han only laughed a little louder, the sound deep and husky.

Leia bowed her head and laughed too, biting her lip – she smoothed both hands back over her hair, and then wrapped them around her knees, curving her body forward to look at him. Beneath the bubbles and sultry water, Han moved a foot forward, nudging hers with his.

She poked his toes with hers playfully, and then curved the arch of her foot around his ankle, and Han cleared his throat, lifting his hand to his mouth. He bit on his finger thoughtfully, staring at her, and then brushed his jaw with his knuckles.

"Hell, 'm I blushin'?" he asked, feigning consternation. He gave her a quasi-innocent look, his dark eyes glinting roguishly. He touched his hand to his chest in an exaggerated gesture. "I was a virgin on that one, too, y'know."

Leia raised her eyes to the ceiling and snorted, unladylike, and then closed her eyes, wrinkling her nose with a giggle – she wrapped her leg around Han's and sank down in the water, until the bubbles covered all but her nose and she peered out at him sweetly, her eyes bright, skin still glowing with one of her enticing blushes.

She lifted her head, took a breath, and gave him a mock-serious look.

"I hope I wasn't too rough with you," she whispered.

"Well," Han drawled gruffly, "you could've held me a little bit, after."

Leia gave a quieter, more demure snort of amusement.

"Yeah, and next time? Don't call me by your other scoundrel's name," he went on.

Leia cleared her throat primly.

"I'll try," she agreed.

She put her arms on the side of the tub, holding herself up a little, more, and looking at him. She pursed her lips again, biting on the lower one thoughtfully, and then tilted her head forward, brows arching a little.

"Next time?" she quoted. "You're hooked on it now?"

Han gave her a smirk, but his expression was a little more guarded, suddenly.

"Nah, Leia," he said, quite seriously. "'M not makin' assumptions."

Leia backtracked a little as well, sitting up some more. She tilted her head, her brow knitting slightly.

"I'm not bothered if you liked it," she assured him, "or if you want to do it again."

Han looked at her silently for a long moment – they hadn't had much of a conversation, after the fact – she'd snuggled up to him, breathless, maybe clinging a little tighter than usual – he spent enough time catching his breath that he thought she might have fallen asleep, when she ran her fingers through his hair and caught his earlobe in her teeth – _let's go run a bath, Han_ –

He sat forward, water sloshing around them, and held her gaze intently.

"Did _you_ like it?" he asked.

He seemed genuinely unsure.

"Do _you_ want to do it again?"

Leia tilted her head at him with a wry smile, and parted her lips.

"You know, Captain, you might let me finish this bubble bath first," she quipped.

Han hung his head, his breath rushing out swiftly, and snorted huskily, glancing up and giving her a narrow look.

"S'not what I meant."

"I know," she said softly.

She waited for him to lift his head up and resume looking at her, and she drew her knees up again, leaning forward against them. She pursed her lips, and compressed them – something she always did when carefully organizing her thoughts.

"With you?" she asked gently.

Han cracked a smile, glaring.

"I sure as hell hope not with anyone else," he growled.

Leia grinned. She nodded.

"With you," she said – without the teasing punctuation, this time. "I would."

Han stared at her silently.

"You never cease to amaze me, Sweetheart," he said gruffly.

He reached out with one arm – "' _C'mere_ " – he murmured, and she moved forward – in a swift movement, he drew her towards him, her back slipping against his chest sensually, warm, wet skin brushing together – so tempting Leia closed her eyes, and let her head fall back on his chest, settling between his legs.

He sighed gruffly, wrapping his around hers, and tangling their feet up somehow – he leaned forward to kiss the top of her head, her temple, and her cheek – how she had managed to find a way to illustrate their honeymoon with something entirely knew to them, when it came to the realm of sexual experience – he shouldn't have put it past her, and he wrapped an arm around he shoulders, holding her tight, valuing her all the more for her bravery, and that private wild side that was his, _all his._

He let the silence go on for a moment, and then lowered his head, pressing his lips to her ear.

"Sore?" he asked quietly.

Leia tilted her head a little, and shook it back and forth, her lips parted pensively.

"No," she answered simply.

She reached up to slip her hand into his, interlocking their fingers. She closed her eyes contently.

"Compliments to you, I believe," she murmured.

"You didn't say if you liked it," he pointed out, a hint of worry in his tone.

Leia was quiet.

"I like feeling close to you," she answered honestly. "I like your touch."

Han kissed her ear again, his mouth lingering in her hairline. Leia listened to his heartbeat for a moment, feeling sleepy, and safe – she opened her eyes to look around them – at the soft lighting, the gorgeous marble, and the iridescent glint in the bubbles.

"Han," she whispered mildly. She let his name linger for a moment, because she wasn't sure how exactly to phrase what she wanted to get across to him. "I know I make you nervous in bed sometimes."

His response was immediate, his grip on her tightening gently.

"No, s'not you, you don't," he began.

"You don't want to hurt me," Leia said placidly.

"'Course not," he mumbled, his jaw tightening – that was one of the reasons why, despite her offering to fulfill a quintessential male fantasy, he had been wary of the whole act, ready to bolt the moment Leia even flinched with slight discomfort –

Leia licked her lips.

"I never feel nervous in bed with you," she said – she didn't add the word _'anymore'_ – but it lingered, and Han knew it did; he took no offense in it, he just felt an instant wave of relief, triumph, something like those two mixed –

He felt Leia take a deep breath, and sigh contently, and she reflected on her own comment – she had never felt unsafe with Han at all, but she had her clear, dissociative moments sometimes – and thinking of it now, she could not remember a single time, recently, when she'd need to take a break, take a breath, make him stop and look at her, and whisper her name to her for a few minutes –

Han bowed his head next to hers and kissed her neck, and Leia reached up to run her fingers into his hair; she sensed he felt humbled, by her trust, somehow, but she felt it was a given, and she was invigorated by him, and everything in her life she'd been able not only to have, but to have _back_ – because of him.

She squeezed his hand, and slid it down her body – between her breasts, over her ribs and stomach, her hips – and rested his palm between her legs, and his fingers on her, leaning back into him, pressuring his hand with hers.

"Make me come this way," she coaxed, her voice soft and husky – like honey, like whiskey –

"Just my hand?" he asked –

"Yes," she murmured, eyes closed, head tilted back – she reached up behind her to touch his face, slipping a little further into the water – she loved when he touched her like that; it was gentle, a soft-core lullaby.

Han nodded, his other hand sliding over her shoulder, fingers brushing at her jaw – he tilted her head to the side, bowed his head down closer, and found her lips for a kiss –

"How many times?" he asked huskily, nudging her jaw with his nose –

\- and Leia laughed, catching her lip in her teeth -

"There's that blush again," Han growled seductively, and Leia tilted her head back, her breath already catching in a soft, almost soundless moan – she'd spent good money on this sauna, and yet still, what made it worth it was him.

* * *

 _Honeymoon_

* * *

 _-alexandra_


	4. Salt Water

_a/n: mildly analogous to the short fic "Bail Organa and the No Good, Very Bad Day"_

* * *

 _La Lune de Miel_  
 _Quatre_

 _"Salt Water"_

* * *

The private beaches that sprawled over the southern expanses of Corellia were uncharted territory for him – strange that this was his home planet, and there was so much of it that he had never really discovered, so much of it he knew of only in wistful imaginings, the bitter, forlorn fantasies of a half-starved, scoundrel street kid who kept a dirty, stolen knife in his boot, nicked food from bazaar vendors, and constantly ran afoul of the Coronet City police.

He felt no – _resentment_ , being where he was now, being a man now who had access to this privilege, who had a chalet up in the wealthiest mountain vistas of the planet – no resentment, because he'd had no control over the circumstances that had raised him and disenfranchised him, he felt only grudging awe at how his life had turned out – gratitude, disbelief – and a small bit of smug satisfaction.

When she had asked if there were quiet, hidden beaches on Corellia, he'd automatically answered with a native command of the planet's geography – _Yeah, real swanky, near the coast, takes about half a day to get to the equator tropics, hour speeder ride out to the exclusive resorts._ She tilted her head at him, her lips pursed, and then left her breakfast for the bag she had in the middle of the open, airy sitting room, taking something from it, and turning to him with a scrap of red nylon hanging from her index finger –

 _Want to go?_

Han arched a brow at her, asked about the top – she feigned innocence – _What top, Han?_ – and he hadn't taken any convincing – for one night, she booked a little waterfront, breezy beach house hidden away from the world, and off they went.

He hadn't ever thought of Leia as a seafaring wildling; the only sort of sand he ever remembered seeing her around was the dry harsh terrain of Tatooine, and he didn't think she'd ever mentioned beaches in her childhood on Alderaan – yet he had barely thrown the speeder into park, letting it idle for a moment at the foot of the dune their cottage was on, before she had leapt off of the back of it, her bare feet sinking into the fields of pearl-white sand, and run for the edge of the water.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, amused, Han had watched as she dashed into the frothy shallows, hair flying wild around her, storming the ocean up to her thighs and twirling around. He'd killed the engine, turned on the seat of the speeder – and just watched her – watched her – he tried to think of a word for what she was doing, and when it occurred to him, simple and absurd, he laughed out loud –

He watched her play; she was _playing_.

Leia was playing in the ocean, as if she didn't have the weight of a galaxy on her shoulders.

His laugh must have carried; she whipped around, standing there, swaying just slightly as the water tumbled into her knees and wearing those red bikini bottoms and a demure, cotton v-neck blouse that draped off one shoulder.

She raised her hand and beckoned to him, shading her own eyes with her hand – the sun was brutal, but the ocean breeze was a cool relief, and Han pulled one leg up onto the speeder, and ran a few fingers around the edge of his boot, loosening it to pull off – he could sense, rather than hear, her laughing at him – why the hell had he worn so much to the beach –

Tugging off his boots, he watched her immerse herself in the ocean, plunging deeper, testing the wet sand and the depths of the water; he sat up straighter as she took a swan dive forward, and came up moments later, smoothing her hair back, her shirt clinging to her like fine silk – and he swallowed hard –

Pale white shirt, water, bright, burning sun – it was a sacred combination, and he paused with a boot in his hands, staring at her for a long time.

" _Han!"_

He slipped his shirt over his head and dropped down off the speeder, hanging the shirt over his shoulder and reaching down to unfasten his belt and holster rig, walking down the beach to the water's edge and dropping it as he went – he blinked heavily in the sun, lethargic already, pausing at the water's edge to reach down and roll up his trousers.

He was doused with a handful of water as he straightened up, and Leia was in front of him, bending slightly at the waist poised to flick another handful of water at him. She met him with a sparkling, mischievous grin – she splashed him with the ocean anyway, and he crossed his arms.

Leia leapt forward, nearly landing on his toes, and she reached down to grasp the waist of his pants, twisting her hands in his waistband, pursing her lips in a look of mock disapproval.

"You ought to have worn something you can swim in," she murmured.

He arched his eyebrows. He reached out and touched her sides, his warm hands moving over her ribs, plucking at the see-through material of her shirt – he brushed a palm over her breast, making no response to her chastisement – sure, he could have, but all clothes dried eventually –

Leia leaned close and pressed a soft, open-mouthed kiss to his chest, lingering there for a moment, and then she unhooked her fingers from his trousers, gently grabbed the hem of her blouse, and lifted it rather unceremoniously over her head.

Han opened his mouth in surprise, his breath catching in his throat – on instinct, he looked around them, startled, as if looking for gawking eyes – he remembered they were alone, and when he looked back, she gave him a devilish wink, and turned, storming into the water again.

He grinned, his smirk proud and incredulous – gaze focused on his wife's bare back as she tackled the waves – he crossed his arms again, shaking his head – he half-thought she had been joking, when she said she didn't bring a top – this was uninhibited, this was untamed –

He watched Leia turn to face a wave, tumble into it, submerge herself in water – and he leaned forward, waiting for her to resurface, glittering with sun and seawater –

"Leia," he shouted, his voice cracking over the thundering water suddenly – she should have burst right back up.

He lunged forward, sloshing through water and thick, muddy sand, dragging his hands through the water when he was waist deep, somewhere around where he'd seen her go under – fingers grasped his tightly, yanked at him so he almost went down in the water, and she came up laughing, water streaming down her hair and off her shoulders.

" _Leia_ ," he growled, as she fell forward against his chest, grabbing his arms tightly and leaning into him.

"I had to coax you in," she drawled, tilting her head up to pucker her lips at him innocently. "Were you rescuing me?" she simpered, resting her hand against his heart – it skipped a few beats, and she gave him a sympathetic look – she hadn't meant to really scare him.

Han put his hand on top of her head and pretended to dunk her back under, and Leia shrieked and twisted away, bending down to splash water at him again – he started to chase her, only to be startled when she screamed again and leapt completely out of the water, clutching him around the neck and damn near crawling up to his shoulders.

Stumbling, Han caught her, arms around her waist, barely avoiding losing his footing and thrusting them both into the rocking waves – he looked torn between laughter and disbelief, his eyes wide.

"What the – "

Her nails scraped softly at his neck, her cheeks flushed.

"Something slithery touched my foot," she gasped, bursting into hoarse laughter and leaning forward.

She tucked her head against his neck, and then she straightened up, turning her nose into his temple, pressing her lips and eyes against his warm hair – he tilted his head curiously as she buried her face in it, nuzzling her face into his hair –

"Your Worship," he said, his voice muffled in her neck. "What the hell're you doing?"

She took a deep breath, murmuring into his hair –

"Salt water in my eyes," she whispered. "Your hair is dry."

"'M not a towel," he protested indignantly.

She crossed her ankles behind his back, holding her body tight to his, and her breasts, naked and wet, slipped against his chest temptingly as she shifted to look at him, her lips parted – pink and vibrant – and her eyes alight and vivid.

He tightened one arm around her waist, slid the other up her back to her hair, tangling his fingers in it. She leaned forward and kissed him – not soft and slow, but hard and passionate, and she tasted like the heady heat of the sun, and ocean salt as thick and sweet as molasses – Han stumbled, trying to kiss her and balance her, and she broke away, gasping and laughing.

He tilted his head, and started to say something – and then a startled look crossed his face as he side-stepped a little, loosening his grip; Leia screamed, her ankles slipping against his back, and Han lost his balance, tipping sideways into the water – both of them smacked into the intemperate ocean, submerged, and Han resurfaced just in time to see Leia be tackled by another wave.

"What," she howled, coughing salt water, _"happened?"_

Grinning, he stood and grabbed her - "Somethin' slithery touched _my_ foot," he growled, swinging her up into his arms effortlessly, and Leia twisted onto her side, immediately letting out a harsh, exaggerated gasp of protest –

"The ind _ignity_ ," she insisted breathily. "This is – most indecorous – put me down - !"

"Who's indecorous?" Han retorted, his voice elevated over the sound of the crashing water. "Can't be me," he teased, "must be some half-naked princess – "

Leia playfully sank her teeth into his bicep and kicked her feet, and Han shied away from the seductive little bite, treading back to shallow waters and going down slowly onto his knees, dumping Leia into the sandy, mellow current underneath him.

She braced her hands up against his chest and tilted her head back, her shoulders trembling with silent laughter for a moment before the sound came and she started giggling. Han smirked and planted his knees on either side of her thighs, leaning down to kiss her – his kiss was soft, and slow, and salty as the waves that lapped at him, and when Leia gave a soft sigh, and a satisfied little moan, he pulled back a little, sliding an arm under her and cupping the back of her head in his palm.

He looked at her quizzically, water dripping out of his hair, down his nose – over his lips, and onto her, and his eyes drifted over her bare shoulders and chest, his heart rate increasing – what in _Sith's_ name – what in the hell had he done to deserve this, to deserve _her –_

He swallowed hard, his eyes drifting back up to hers, and lingering – he tilted his head, his lips forming a silent swear in his native tongue – if the careless, rugged, thieving street kid from all those years ago knew that someday, he'd swim on these private Corellian beaches with a princess –

" _Han_ ," she whispered – he saw her lips moving before he heard her, before he finally heard her – "Han?"

He cleared his throat. He nudged her nose with his gently.

"Didn't know you loved the ocean so much, Sweetheart," he murmured, moving his lips close to her ear so she could hear him over the waves.

Leia sighed, her head falling back again.

"My mother," she said softly, "had a baby sister who drowned in the ocean – she was a fearless woman, but she was afraid of water," she told him, slow and steady. "The few times I got to experience the ocean," she trailed off, and looked back at him. "She was so scared, that I felt brave."

She started to sit up, and he sat back on his knees, watching her brace herself up on her elbows.

"It's forbidden," she said. "It's – magic."

Han nodded. He smiled at her, and she tossed her head, her hair misting water on him.

"You're giving me one of your looks, hotshot," she murmured.

He crawled forward and wrapped her up in his arms, rolling over to his back and pulling her on top of him. His fingertips roamed over her spine and brushed the sides of her breasts – he kissed her, and then sat up; Leia situated her legs so that she straddled his lap, facing him, and he pushed her hair back, tangling his hands in her hair again.

He started to say something, catching his breath in his throat.

"Never thought I'd be here," he said gruffly.

He furrowed his brow darkly, unsure if that made any sense at all – he didn't mean he never thought he'd be on this beach, though that was true – he just never thought that something like _this_ \- but Leia tilted her head at him, her eyes soft with understanding, and he knew she _got it_ – she always did. He pulled her a little closer, and she interlaced her fingers at the nape of his neck, breathing out calmly.

"I never thought _I'd_ be here," she retorted, with a slow, simple shrug.

It wasn't anything either of them could have imagined – a rebel princess leader, and a disgraced Imperial cadet, with a junkyard ship and a worn blaster to his name – and yet it worked so well that it was –

Leia smiled, her eyes glittering, laughed huskily, and leaned forward to kiss him, murmuring incoherently into his lips. Han wrapped his arms around her, dropping back down into the water and sound, pulling her down with him – he felt like drowning, not in the ocean, but in her.

* * *

 _Honeymoon_

* * *

 _-alexandra_


	5. Sweet Nothings

_a/: all good things must end._

* * *

 _La Lune de Miel_  
 _Cinq_

 _"Sweet Nothings"_

* * *

There was a perfectly luxurious bed tucked away on the lofted upper level of the cabin, and yet Leia was asleep on the floor, surrounded by a comical, haphazard mess of plush blankets and soft pillows, naked except for the necklace at her throat – her lips parted, the edge of a dark blue sheet draping off her shoulder and wrinkling between her knees, covering her without covering her.

She slept on the floor, oblivious to the daylight as it softly started to turn purple and fade into evening, comfortable there, sated and safe – and Han watched her, captivated.

The place was quiet – everything was quiet; the windows were open, yet even dusk was falling in silence, and the breeze was warm enough that when Leia turned and shifted in her heavy slumber, she did not instinctively grasp for the covers to wrap them back around her.

Standing near the sofa – the sofa was _right there,_ and still she sprawled out on the floor – he had been there too, of course; on the warm hardwood in front of a primitive style fire hearth – Han let his eyes roam over her, over the way she lay on her stomach with her hair tangling over her shoulders, half-loose and half-braided, at the way her lips moved slightly, parted, then pressed together again, in her sleep – the subtle movement of her back as she breathed, the slight twitch of her eyelashes.

Awakened by something – or nothing, he wasn't sure – he had extricated himself from her gentle, sleepy grip and walked around, stretching his muscles, working out a tight kink in his neck and shoulders – the floor was an adventure, sure, a honeymoon right of passage, but he wasn't as young as he used to be; he'd slung on only his bloodstripes, found himself a glass of whiskey in the kitchen – watched the sun fade a little, and thought about her –

About her, and everything she was to him, and how much this all meant.

He sat down on the edge of the sofa, his gaze roaming over the shape of her hips under the blanket, her bare legs, her ankles crossed over one another – and he ran a hand through his hair and over his jaw, swallowing a quiet sigh of content disbelief – she was so, she was _so_ –

He didn't know the word. He didn't know words the way she did, but she was something. It was – not the first time he had realized such a thing, far from it; it was merely one of the many times he found himself in awe of this privilege he had – _Leia_.

Leia, who had scattered bedclothes on the floor by the hearth and pulled him down to the floor with her, wearing some kind of dangerous, heady perfume that somehow smelled exactly like everything he'd ever dreamed of; Leia, who had run her hands over him with passion in her fingertips, following her touch with her lips, whispering in his ear – _I want you to_ _talk to me, Han, talk – talk dirty._

The damn Princess of Alderaan, writhing under him, tangled up with him, alternately whispering and moaning his name in fever pitches while he, never very good at refusing her, answered in kind, husky, teasing words –

 _Dirty? Dirty, dirty, Sweetheart -_ ? He whispered, lazily scraping through his lexicon for the right words to use on her.

 _Mmm, mmhmm; Han –_ her moans were a soft demand, and he was so drawn into it, so captivated, words spilling out more easily than usual, saying all the things that ran through his mind when he was in bed with her, when his mind was in some hot, intoxicated, disoriented place that he found inside her, in her tightness, in the private paradise of her body.

 _You want me to talk dirty, Sweetheart?_ – he repeated – _Yes,_ she whispered, her lips brushing his jaw, and he'd had to focus on breathing, on holding out – she did that to him, she always did, got him so hard he couldn't think straight – _You're wet enough to drown me,_ he said huskily, and Leia's breath hitched – _Are you thinking about my tongue, Leia?_ – he kissed her lips, kissed her sternum – _I'll fuck you with my tongue –_

Leia nodded and twisted in his arms, bantering with him in the same vein – flirtatious, salacious, her hands in his hair, legs around his neck until she came, and then legs around his waist as he thrust inside her, pushing her hips up to meet his with her head thrown back – _oh, Han; Han, like that; harder – yes, yes, like that, I'm, I'm –_

He'd pressed his forehead to her breast, trailed his lips up her shoulder, up her neck to hear ear – _So fucking tight, fuck, Sweetheart –_ Leia, breathing hard, digging her heel into his back – _Dirty, Han, I said dirty, you can do better than that_ – he groaned against her shoulder, finding it harder to speak – _Your voice,_ she murmured, _so husky, and deep – you can make me come, just talking to me,_ she whispered.

The talking, the back-and-forth competition in X-rated sweet-nothings, somehow increased their stamina, drew it out, made it last longer – _I want you buried inside me Han -_ and he was gradually drawn more and more into it, more risqué, and more intimate as the afternoon went on –

Pushing his hand through her hair, physically holding her eyes on his – gentle, but intense, Leia holding onto his elbows, her abdomen tightening hard, encouraging him, lips parted, eyes glittering with arousal as he thrust, his forehead lowering to hers – _I love – I love your cunt –_ Leia's teeth on his shoulder, then her nose against his temple as she turned her face towards him, swearing in his ear – _You're so good Han, you feel so good, god, oh god_ –

He remembered it, remembered all of it as he watched her sleep. remembered how he'd shifted, rolled over, pulled Leia on top of him, running his hands from her shoulders, over her breasts, down to her thighs, and Leia shifted her hips down hard, leaning forward to press her body against his, her face flushed, eyes bright –

Her lips moved over his jaw, her hand brushing through his hair, stroking it, hips matching a rough, decadent tempo – _I want_ – she gasped, in the throes of climax – _you, in my mouth_ – her voice in the softest whisper in his ear, unbelievably seductive, hitting him all over, impossible to resist – _Mmm,_ she murmured, gasping hard, her voice pitching up as she whispered the words out – _I want your cock in my mouth –_

Han groaned, gasping at her hips, rocking her hard against him just right – he tossed his head, and her hand ran down over his face, her thumb on his lip, then her teeth against his jaw, teeth on his earlobe – _I love,_ she gasped, breathless – always breathless, because they could keep each their stoked in a relentless tempo of desire _– tasting you_ – she purred – _in the back of my throat –_ she broke off at the last, losing her voice in a sharp, husky cry, her head falling against his almost roughly, body tightening around him – was it the second, third time? – his vision was almost white with pleasure – _fuck, Leia,_ he growled, almost in pain –

She moved off of him, her lips moving down his navel, hands following, tongue lashing his hipbones, sensitive skin in his groin, and he swore, his head jerking back sharply, hand grasping at her hair desperately – _dirty,_ he thought, and his fingers brushed her cheek as she closed her lips over his cock – he twisted his fingers in her hair, a quiet grunt of satisfaction escaping his lips when he came, his mouth moving soundlessly.

Leia's lips were like silk on his skin, soothing and soft as she drew back, and then rested her head on his stomach for a moment, her hand massaging his thigh. She turned her face to his abdomen, taking a deep breath, and then languidly moved back up his body to collapse against his side, drawing the backs of her fingers delicately across her mouth.

She bit her lip and swallowed hard, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, and he had – he had been speechless, after so much effort in talking, and Leia was silent, too, basking in the intensity of it, instead using a soft hand running over every part of his skin she could reach to convey her satisfaction as their pulses calmed, and sweat cooled, and –

And that was Leia, that was her, so unexpected in so many ways, so uninhibited behind closed doors with him, never failing to fascinate him and devastate him in the best of ways – if he'd known back at that Yavin base that this woman would one day be his, raw and bare and vulnerable and confident, wrecking him with her mind and body – _I love tasting you in the back of my throat –_

Han's lower abdomen throbbed at the echo of her words, and he shifted, reaching between his legs to rest his hand against the inside of his thigh, eyes fixed on her as she slept – so eloquent on the senate floor, so eloquent in bed –

It wasn't the brazen, rough, sex that got to him – it was hot, it was unbelievable – but it was more than that, it was that he knew how much she trusted him, how safe she felt, and that humbled him, and he just – felt so much respect for her, felt so enamored of the way he needed her.

She shifted in her sleep, lazily rolling half onto her side, and her lips parted, red and swollen, and Han leaned forward on his knees, pushing his hand through his hair again – he loved her, beyond reason itself, he'd never had sex this good in his life, he'd never had sleep as restful as the sleep he got when he slept next to her, never felt happiness as intensely, never valued himself as much as he did knowing that _she_ wanted him.

Their relationship was by no means new and fresh; they had known each other a thousand times over. He didn't know how the hell it was more inflamed here; the seclusion amplified privacy and demolished inhibitions – despite this having been their main pastime for the past two weeks, boredom had yet to set in – he was more beguiled by her than he had ever been; it felt as wildly new as it did blessedly familiar.

Leia caught her breath in her sleep in a subtle, high-pitched little squeak, and Han cocked his head curiously with interest; she did not wake, though; she tossed her head, and sighed, her lips moving only a little, and his chest tightened pleasantly.

He sat forward and knelt down, crawling around her and back into the makeshift nest of blankets and pillows, resituating himself on the floor with her. His gaze moved intently over her face, and he shifted closer, sliding his arm over the curve of her side, from the swell of her hip, down to her ribs, back up to her shoulder, back and forth in a protective massage until she awoke, peering at him through heavy lashes.

She pursed her lips.

"Hi," she murmured, the word thick and husky, buried in the back of her throat.

He gave her a soft, roguish smirk in return, brushing her hair back with his other hand and leaning in to kiss her. Without a word, he tugged her closer insistently, wrapping his leg around hers, settling her hips against him, kissing her – _kissing her_ – until he had her breathless again, and she stared at him with alert, sparkling eyes.

His mouth fell to her jaw then, and then he tucked his head down to her throat to kiss the necklace he'd given her, lips lingering for a moment until he looked back up.

"You sure you want to go back tomorrow?" he asked in a gruff whisper, and Leia wove her hands out of the tangle of their bodies to cup his face in her palm, a smile gracing her lips – his question was facetious; he knew they had to return –

She shook her head, lost in a brief fantasy – she loved her political world, but perhaps if they could freeze time for only a little longer, she would stay here with him forever – this experience, this honeymoon, was enough to leave her feeling him and tasting him for the rest of her life, even if for some tragic reason he never touched her again.

She took note of the feel of him against her abdomen, arousal stirring in her stomach again – she had slept enough, had she not? She could have him again, and again, and again –

Han drew his thumb across her lower lip, his expression intense, as if he had read her thoughts – he nodded, but for the moment, he did not touch his lips to hers again, or brush his knuckles over her breast and down to her stomach – he leaned forward a little, and pressed his forehead against hers, his lips parted.

He looked at her for a long time without saying anything, his hands moving over her spine, and then he tightened his grip, pulled her closer, and looped a few fingers through her necklace, almost clinging to it. He started to say something, realized he was choked up, and closed his mouth, laughing huskily, a little sheepish.

Leia's brow softened and she smiled, snuggling closer and relaxing, willing to let him hold her – she did not ask him to explain what he was feeling; he was sure she knew, sure she understood – it was constantly enlightening to him, the depth and richness of what he had with her, the beauty in it that was both complex, and safe; that he could growl in her ear that he wanted to fuck her until she was screaming herself hoarse in the same afternoon that he could bury his lips in her hair, and feel her heartbeat against his chest, and be speechless, because his voice would crack and shake if he spoke, so he silently conveyed how much he loved her.

She understood all of that - she _felt_ all of that, as intensely and uniquely as he did, and she was content to share in the unspoken understanding of how meaningful this was – this, _them_ , everything about it - for both of them – because it was incredible to be held like this, to be loved like this – and _this_ was the rest of their lives. _  
_

* * *

_Honeymoon_

 _Finis_

* * *

 _-alexandra_


End file.
